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Inadequacy	By : LinguaMagus Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 636 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own Harry Potter or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Inadequacy
- 1
A boy is in pain. He wants to share.
Hermione was always so bored during Quidditch practice. Sometimes she went down to the pitch to try and be supportive, but it never felt like anyone noticed. She tried to take her schoolwork down to be productive in the stands, but it’s actually much harder than it looks to write an essay on bench seats. Usually, she just let the boys enjoy themselves and got on with her other business. It was nice when Ron wasn’t on the team. They could spend time together, talk, and sometimes he would even let down his guard and be vulnerable. That was over, though.
She sighed as she adjusted the books under her arm and stepped quickly down the hall to the library. Thinking about Ron just frustrated her these days. Even before Lavender, she could feel that something was different. The spark was gone. After the chaos at the ministry last Summer, she had seen Ron at his best. A supportive friend for Harry, funny, brave, and it seemed like he might finally have been willing to show real affection for her. It had never come, though. The longer she waited, the more she expected it, and the more disappointed she became when it didn’t happen.
Never mind, though. He wanted to flirt with Lavender, they would end up snogging between classes, and she had better things to do than fret about boys. Still, it was sometimes lonely when they were both gone. She missed Harry the most. They had become fiercely close over the last few years. She felt like his protective older sister. He was so kind, so gentle, so courageous. But so impulsive. He was carrying so much for all of them, and there was so little she could do. She worried about his developing obsession with Draco. Apart from being a sneaky little git, she didn’t think he was really very dangerous. At most, he was just going to start some trouble and Dumbledore would stop him.
Her thoughts continued on a similar track for most of the rest of the afternoon. While her quill zipped out a perfectly adequate ten inches on Drought Charms for Professor Flitwick, her mind wandered elsewhere. She didn’t even notice she had finished until she unrolled the last inch of parchment and realized with annoyance that she was going to have to cram her conclusion into it. In flowing, minuscule script, she raced to the bottom and rolled the parchment up with satisfaction.
She packed everything into her over-crowded bag and decided that the boys were probably already back in the Common Room, so she may as well meet them there instead of checking at the pitch first. She crossed the hall to the Eastern Stairwell to head up to the tower, but when she was a few paces away, she caught a glimpse of Peeves darting behind a statue one floor up, holding what appeared to be a sack of stink pellets. She gave a resigned shrug and went the long way around.
On the second floor, she had to cross over to the other side of the castle to reach the stairs up to Gryffindor Tower. She tip-toed down the hall, trying desperately not to catch the attention of Moaning Myrtle in the Girls’ Bathroom. When she was right outside the door, her heart caught in her chest. There was a distinct sound of moaning and sobbing right on the other side of the door. Convinced that Myrtle had heard her, she hitched up her bag to make a run for it. Then she paused. The sound was wrong. It was deeper than Myrtle’s voice. Huskier. The plaintive sobs sounded fresher, less melancholic.
She chewed on her lip in indecision. If someone was genuinely unwell, she should check on them. On the other hand, how sure could she be that she really knew what Myrtle’s crying sounded like? There was a wracking, coughing lament behind the door. She sighed. Whatever else may be true of ghosts, they didn’t cough. She steeled herself for a hasty retreat and swung the door open slowly. She barely caught a glimpse of platinum blond hair before a wand was up and someone cried, “Tyflomolensi!”
Instinctively, her own wand flashed out and Protego rang in her head like a hammer on an anvil. A second later, clarity followed. Someone had tried to blind her. The conjunctivitis curse. That someone was a boy with very, very blond hair. The curse bounced off of her shield charm and shattered the tap on a sink. The voice shouted again, “Diffindo!” She was on guard this time. Another shield charm deflected it back, and a fraction of a second later, she shouted “Petrificus Totalus!”
The cutting spell had not been intended to make her unable to see, she thought hollowly. Someone was trying to hurt her. There was a crash and a rocking thud. Her body-bind had found its mark. Taking a breath, she allowed herself to focus on the scene. Draco Malfoy was laying like a wooden block on the floor, face frozen in a mask of fury. Then another layer of information passed through the adrenaline. His trousers were hanging in tatters around his ankles. His cutting charm had bounced off of her shield and slashed them from his left leg from ankle to hip.
His skin was shockingly pale, only more apparent from the splash of crimson where the spell had nicked his thigh, opening a dime sized wound in the flesh and leaking blood in a puddle onto the floor. Distractedly, she noticed that his legs were entirely hairless. In fact, her eyes drifted, he didn’t have hair anywhere below the waist. His groin was bald, and a small, wrinkled penis poked out like a curious mouse over hairless testicles. He saw her eyes examining him, and pure, visceral hatred radiated from him like poison.
She tutted and knelt over him to examine the cut on his leg. She dotted it with the scraps of his pants, and looked at it again. She nodded, satisfied that it wasn’t serious and sat back on her feet. Now here was quite a conundrum to deal with. If she released the curse, he certainly would attack her again. That much was clear. On the other hand, she couldn’t just leave him here like this. She picked up his wand. For now, he certainly shouldn’t be allowed to point this at her again.
Holding up the ruined trousers, she looked at the edges critically and laid them out on the tile. She muttered a spell and the trousers knit together at the new seams. They weren’t attractive, but they would allow him to cover his nakedness until he could get back to the dungeons. She laid them over his legs and tucked his wand into her bag.
“Alright, now listen. I’m going to take your wand down to the Infirmary and tell Madam Pomfrey I found it in the hall outside. When you go to get it back, you need to have her look at that cut. It doesn’t seem too bad, but you don’t want it to get infected. When I release the curse, I would recommend that you put your trousers back on before you chase me. Naked boys chasing girls through Hogwarts are probably not treated very generously. Never mind the fact that I have two wands and you have none, and I will certainly make sure you don’t touch me.” She gave him a stern look, and he stared back with boiling fury and shame.
She walked to the door, and just before she turned to leave, she pointed her wand at him and released the body-bind. He scrambled to his feet and she departed. Behind the door, she could hear the frantic rustling of skin against fabric and she hurriedly trotted off to the Infirmary to get rid of the unwelcome wand. This was certainly going to become a problem later, but for now she had done the best she could.
—
Draco struggled into his clothes quickly. By the time he reached the door, she was gone. The flick of her robes rounding a distant corner. He sagged to the floor, letting the bathroom door shut out the sounds of the school. Perfect. Now he could endure months of public humiliation before the Dark Lord killed him for his failure. The mudblood would run to her pathetic friends and tell them all about how she defeated him. Stripped him down. Tell them how he didn’t even have a man’s cock, just a shriveled little boy’s penis. She was too smug to even mock him. Just ignored him as a sexual equal entirely, as if he wasn’t worth more than her entire family.
The fury rose like bile in his throat. She had pitied him. Him. The scion of the House of Malfoy, the last of the Great Houses true to its pure ancestry. The rest had fallen into bourgeois imitations and blood traitors. Only the Malfoys were worthy of the great honor of their name. His father was Lucius Malfoy, most trusted of the Dark Lord’s servants, Great Serpent of a dynasty dating back a thousand years.
Draco saw how his mother looked at his father. They say that power is the strongest aphrodisiac, and it must be true because when they were alone, she worshiped and fawned over him. She loved her son, but he was not a man to her. She saw him as just a scared little boy, small and impotent. He knew that she had run to that sniveling spy Severus, and that’s why he was trying to interfere in his task. Trying to steal away his honor. Prove to his mother that Draco was not a man, not worth taking seriously, not worth loving as an equal.
Before this was all over, they would all take him seriously. He would fail. He knew that. The Dark Lord would punish him for his failure, and that was only right. But before that happened, he would flood this castle with His servants. He would make them feel fear, pain, loss. He would take from them until nothing was left to take. If he couldn’t kill the old man, he could at least destroy him. At least take from him what was most important. His precious school and all these idiot traitorous children, infecting the purity of Magic with their false compassion.
Draco knew the truth. All people truly wanted to rule, but they were just too cowardly. Wizards deserve to be on a throne atop the world, and only their own weakness was preventing it. He understood this weakness. He felt it in himself, and he despised it. One man stood between him and being seen as a man. One curse was all it would take, and he could be desired. Wanted. He could be worthy of his mother’s love, if only he was strong enough to reach out and take it. He only had to kill a man who had already failed. Already allowed himself to be captured.
He gripped the side of a sink with a claw-like hand and hauled himself up. He snarled at his disheveled appearance in the mirror, and tried to press his hair into a more controlled position. Laying out his robe, he cast a spell to turn it into a heavy hooded cloak. If he was going to walk the halls wearing the shame of his misfortune, he could at least see that he wasn’t recognized. He pulled on the cloak and swept from the restroom quickly.
Hurrying to the infirmary, the halls were mostly empty. A part of him wondered if Granger would really be foolish enough to let him have his wand back, but he knew she wouldn’t lie about something like that. She saw herself as above such things. Ignorant little girl. Deceit was a tool, just like anything else. If you denied it yourself, you could be sure that your enemies would not.
Ducking out of the hall and into the infirmary, he looked around to see if she had just left it on one of the beds. No such luck, unfortunately. He pulled down his hood and went to the various cabinets and shelves where a store of potions and unnameable devices were kept. Rummaging around, he couldn’t find his wand anywhere.
“Mr. Malfoy! Is there something with which you require my assistance?” Madam Pomfrey barked sharply. She had entered silently from her office and, though several inches shorter, seemed to tower over him thunderously.
He sneered and pulled away from the cabinets. “I was just looking for my wand. Pansy Parkinson told me she had seen it here.”
“Well, Miss Parkinson should learn to be more specific. Miss Granger did indeed find your wand, but it was in the hallway outside my office. She returned it to me, and I have it in my office. You need only have asked, Mr. Malfoy. The Infirmary is not your personal medicine cabinet, boy.” The matron lectured while turning back to her office. Draco bristled at ‘boy’, but didn’t argue. If he could get back to the Slytherin common room without further incident, that would be good enough.
When he had his wand back, he tucked it into a pocket in his cloak and hurried to the dungeons. Priority one was getting back to the dormitories, so he could change his clothes and pretend none of this had ever happened. He was in a mood to jinx anyone who got in his way. Fortunately, he made it back without anyone giving him anything more than a cursory glance.
Draco was quiet for the rest of the evening. Once he had changed into proper clothes and destroyed the old ones, he took up a chair in front of the fire and was lost to the world. This was not especially uncommon for him these days, so none of the other Slytherins paid him any mind. They were all aware of his short temper and the painful consequences of bothering him. Their Head of House didn’t even pretend to punish him anymore. Word had circulated about his new status as a Death Eater, and those who weren’t overtly in favor of this accomplishment at least had the good sense to not cause a fuss by voicing a minority opinion.
The House of Salazar Slytherin had transformed in some ways over the last fifty years. While there had always been a strong vein of tradition and upholding the purity of magical lines, cunning and ambition had given way to rooting out weakness and impurity in the power structures of the Wizarding World. They were under no illusions about the righteousness of the Dark Lord. He deserved to rule because he had none of the foolish weakness of the pathetic Ministry, nor the absurd patronizing compassion of Albus Dumbledore.
Individual achievement was now subordinate to the progress of purebloods everywhere. They understood well that they were dwindling. More and more blood traitors were being born to old families. Half-bloods were a very old occurrence, but long ago they had been treated as what they were. The bastard children born to whores and concubines. Not worthy of a real name, but permitted to carry a wand in service to worthy power. Now the country was ruled by those of half-blood or less. If this silent war did not unfold in their favor, there would be no more pureblood families within two centuries.
Draco pondered this while shadows from the fire danced across his leonine profile. There were vanishingly few partners worthy of his name among the pureblood students. He indulged Parkinson for his parents’ sake, but frankly she repulsed him. Oh, she was attractive enough. Her body made for good entertainment while he was trapped here at this wretched school, even if he refused to disrobe and give her opportunity to humiliate him. She was just so weak. Her pitiful servility showed none of the grace and confidence of his mother’s elegant adulation of Lucius.
They were still young when he first had her out of her clothes. The Heir of Slytherin prowled the halls, and he happily let the fools and toadies in his House believe he could have been the one. He told only Crabbe and Goyle, and then only because they were too stupid to understand the gravity either way. Pansy had come to him groveling, begging him to punish some boy that had offended her. He had agreed, promising to bestow Slytherin’s justice on the fool. It was just blessedly good luck that the idiot boy had found himself petrified behind his camera a few days later. After that, she was his. He ordered her to strip, and she had. She danced for his entertainment, and for the entertainment of those who committed themselves to him.
Fools. Weak fools, all of them. He deserved a paramour of better standing than some whore who displayed her body to the whole House. Struggle as he did, however, vanishingly few fit the bill. The sisters Greengrass, perhaps. Although the older sister showed him only cold respect and not even the slightest interest. She could be broken, but it would require that he lower himself by admitting that she was worthy of his effort. A traitorous thought slithered through the high grass of his ruminations. It’s a pity that Granger is a mudblood.
He snapped into the moment, eyes cold and hard with contempt at the thought. Granger was the worst of the worst. A mudblood, favorite of the corrupt teachers, puppet of the impure administration, best friend of him. She’s filthy, impure, gullible… beautiful, powerful. He gnashed his teeth at the intruding thought. This was ridiculous. He should not even be acknowledging such a creature. Besides, she’s seen you. She could never want you. She’ll be the reason you are humiliated all over school come morning.
Draco shot to his feet. Enough of this, he thought. He stormed out of the common room and went to prowl the dungeons alone until he was tired enough to sleep. There was nothing to be done about this afternoon. He would simply have to discredit her lies and trust in his authority to refute the rest. These kowtowing worms would believe what he instructed them to believe.
It took hours of stomping around in the darkness before his anxious mind settled enough to let his body announce how tired it had become. Reluctantly, he found his bed and put his head down for the night. Whatever else would come, he would endure it. He had always endured. He would still win this battle. He would destroy Hogwarts from the inside. Tear out its beating heart and savor the joy of knowing that when Dumbledore finally fell, it would be with the knowledge that he had been beaten by one of his own students. Even if he wouldn’t have the pleasure of casting the final spell.
—
With morning sunshine burning the eyes of a hundred students filtering into the Great Hall for breakfast, Draco Malfoy strode in with his retinue and all the casual arrogance of a prince. He scanned the assembled student body for obvious enemies and, finding none, instructed his following to a table in the Slytherin section where he allowed Pansy to fill a plate for him. Typically, she loaded it high with all the most desirable items. Sweet rolls, biscuits, bacon, chipolatas and so on. It was just another reason why he detested her. As if anyone would acknowledge a fat leader.
He speared a piece of melon with his fork and ignored the loaded plate. Munching slowly, he surveyed the crowd while his party joked and jibed about new entrants to the Hall. Even such joys as this were beneath him now. These children were not even worthy of mockery. He, Draco Malfoy, had been chosen by the Dark Lord himself to bring down the most famous adversary that they faced. He was above the playground taunts of school children now. He had earned the right to focus on only those who deserved special attention. Like her.
The thought sank like a fang into his forebrain. She walked into the Hall alone, nose buried in a book. Not even willing to look at the man she is preparing to slander. Potter and Weasley followed behind, too invested in their childish pursuits to acknowledge their betters. She hasn’t told them yet. She’s going to wait until they can see me to expose me. What uncivilized cruelty to maximize my humiliation. In his rage and revulsion, he almost respected the strategy. A sudden outburst of laughter would naturally draw attention, and force him to respond.
He held a chipolata unregarded in his off-hand, but his wand hand stayed free and ready. If he was forced to silence the fools by force, he was prepared. Throughout breakfast, he stared across at them, focusing intently for any sign that she was revealing his secret. She never looked up from her book. Even while she ate, she simply angled her mouth to one side to avoid dripping food onto the pages. The chipolata grew cold and soggy. It dripped grease down his wrist. Pansy leaned over to lick the grease from his hand and he withdrew his hand as if stung. The chipolata dropped and bounced off her cheek and he looked at her in horror and disgust.
Just at that moment, Granger rose from her table and moved to leave the Hall. Draco forgot Pansy entirely. Potter and Weasley remained behind, shoveling down food like livestock. He sprang to his feet and abandoned his group, hurrying out after her. He could not endure this torture. Why was she delaying his suffering? Just to watch him squirm? He would not give her the satisfaction. If she wouldn’t respect him enough to get it over with, he would force it out of her. He would sooner throw himself on the fire than let a filthy mudblood control his fate. Even one such as her.
He caught up to her just as she rounded the corner towards the Charms corridor. She walked without looking up from her studies, and he was amazed by the arrogance. To know that she held power over him and to not even fear reprisal. To not travel with any defenses save her own skill. Ahead, the pathetic blowhard McMillan entered a passageway and left the hallway empty except for Draco and Her. He came rushing up behind and pushed her roughly to the wall. She gave him a glare of bewildered shock.
“What are you playing at, Granger?” He demanded viciously.
“What? What on Earth are you talking about? Let go of me before I hex you.” Hermione replied scathingly.
“I know you’re going to tell them. Your little friends. About what you did. What… you saw. I know you want to destroy me.” Draco hissed coldly.
Hermione stared at him in frustrated incomprehension. “Honestly, Malfoy. Either explain yourself or go away. I’m busy. This is your last warning to let go of me, by the way.”
“What’s this, you’re playing innocent all of a sudden? After you humiliate me? After you expose me and subject me to your mockery, you want to pretend innocence?” He practically frothed with offended pride.
“Relashio!” Hermione bit off quickly. Draco’s hands came away scalded, and he clutched them to his chest. Her wand came up and pointed between his eyes. “Touch me again, and I’ll petrify you and leave you here for a well-meaning soul to rescue. How many do you think are here in the castle that like you that much? I’d wager at least half the school walks past you before someone wants to help.”
“As if I would give you the chance, mudblood.” Draco snarled. His attempt at intimidation metered somewhat by the fear and pain when a spray of sparks erupted from the wand tip and splashed across his face.
“Maybe I’m a fool for believing you could possibly be human, but I felt sorry for you, Draco. I found you at a vulnerable moment, and I didn’t blame you for being upset. I returned your wand, didn’t I? What else do you want from me? I won’t apologize, if that’s what you want.” Hermione’s voice quaked with barely controlled fury.
Draco froze and retreated into his thoughts. Was it possible she genuinely didn’t intend to expose him? Who would be that weak? But of course, a muggle-loving mudblood. Their idiotic notions of compassion led them to strange places. This strange, though? It had to be a trick, but he could see no deception in her eyes. Her deep, amber eyes. He shook himself. Now was not the time to be distracted by foolish physicality. She was an enemy, even if she refused to admit such to herself. He took a step back, studying her anew.
“Are you honestly so naive? You saw something no one has ever been permitted to see. You bore witness to my shame.” He chewed on the words. “You forcibly exposed me and now you have the power to tell everyone what you saw. You can stand there and tell me you don’t intend to use that power?”
Anger slid off Hermione’s face to be replaced by utter confusion. “Draco, I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about. I saw you naked. So what? Are you afraid I’ll tell people you shave your legs? Honestly, I don’t think anyone would be surprised. Everyone knows how vain you are.”
He paused and gaped back at her. Was this a trick? Could any woman possibly be so unfamiliar with the world that she could see a man with such a small, weak manhood and not be filled with pity and disgust? It seemed impossible, but what other explanation was there? Granger was clever, but even she could not act this convincingly. His stomach boiled and his heart thrummed in his chest. Perhaps she could even want you. This unworthy girl. Her ignorance could mean your freedom.
Hermione’s expression was growing in discomfort in the awkward silence. Draco just stared at her vacantly. She struggled to understand where this outburst was coming from, but the only thing she could pick up was that he was embarrassed she had seen him naked. So what, though? He played Quidditch, didn’t he? Surely other people had seen him naked before. It wasn’t as if he was hiding some hideous deformity. His legs are even quite nice. The thought snuck in at the edges, and she had to fight down the blush rising in her cheeks. Malfoy was a twit. Being pretty did not absolve him of that.
To her astonishment, his own cheeks seemed to be turning pink as well. She tried to read the source of this change in emotional posture, but he was far too conflicted. Whatever was going on inside his head, it was too complex to pick up on his face. She was growing slowly irritated at being cornered in a hallway, however. If he was going to say anything else, he had better do it soon. She didn’t let go of her wand, but she did let it go slack in her hand. This no longer felt dangerous, just annoying.
“Well? Is that all, then?” She asked shortly.
His mind seemed to snap back into his face from the end of a long rubber band. Now his stare had a presence that it lacked before. His gray eyes had lost some of their hardness. Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat. Was that tenderness in those eyes that usually were so thin and cruel? It iced over almost immediately, but instead of the smug, mocking expression she was so accustomed to, it was the polite, diplomatic face she had seen him use with teachers and other authority figures.
He reached out a long, thin hand like a piano player’s and curled manicured fingers around her non-wand hand. She was surprised and a little disturbed to discover that she was unresisting as he raised the hand before him and placed a chaste kiss on the knuckle. The flush returned to her cheeks with a vengeance. She could feel the sudden warmth fogging up her eyes.
“I beg your pardon. I have misjudged the situation. Please accept my apology.” He said, quietly and crisply. With that, he turned and stepped promptly away. Her hand hung in the air as if suspended by a string.
She pulled it back and cradled it against her chest. Whatever she had expected, that had been nowhere on the list. She was reeling. A hundred voices were crying out for attention in her head. You’re just sensitive because of Ron. You’re feeling lonely, that’s all. He is cute, though. He’s a vile bully, is what he is. He’s afraid, you saw it. Being afraid does not give one an excuse to be wretched. Did you see how he looked at you? Not since Viktor. He was trying not to get hexed is all.
Frustration and longing and hope and fear and anger and pity and compassion roiled inside of her like a maelstrom. If I had any sense, I would have hexed him anyway. He should know better than to treat girls like this. A quiet voice spoke like a poisoned dagger, deep in an unwelcome part of her heart. You like being treated like this. She balled her hands into fists and thumped them against her hips. She shook her head clear and picked up the book where it had fallen to the ground. Closing it and depositing it in her bag, she stomped off to Charms praying silently that focusing on spellwork would drive these silly emotional conflicts out of her head. Boys are not important. Your schoolwork is important.
—
Draco sat with his knees against his chest in one of the empty classrooms on the third floor. He was holding his head in his hands and trying to keep the screams from spilling out of his ears. His eyes were wide and red and tears were drying on his cheek. He rocked back and forth in tight jerks, and his feet tapped out an uneven rhythm on the stone floor.
“Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.” He muttered to himself in merciless whispers. “You escape once and throw yourself right back into her control. You deserve to be destroyed by her. How could you be so stupid.”
She didn’t say anything. The thought was being beaten down by dozens of remorseless recriminations, but it was curiously persistent. She saw you. All of you. And she didn’t say anything. It continued. His rocking and muttering slowed. Self-loathing bit at his muscles and left him sore and exhausted. When you kissed her hand. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t pull back. She didn’t say anything. She doesn’t hate you. She doesn’t fear you. She didn’t say anything.
He clutched his platinum hair and strained until he felt like he was going to tear pieces out of his scalp. His jaw clenched like a vise and he scrunched up his face until his eyes ached. The oldest voice came back. It rang like funeral bells and the other voices scattered. You dare waste your affections on such a worthless creature as she? You are a scion of the last Great House. She is a product of corrupt, degenerate wizardry. She is good only for servicing the basest pleasures.
With a scowl, he unfolded like a music hall vampire and rose imperiously. Control fell like iron grates across his face. His mouth drew in, thin and tight and brutal. A vein pulsed at the corner of his jaw. Raking his fingers through his shining mane, he pulled it back into a sleek, tight shell. His breath rose in his chest like a bellows, and when it fell, his fears and anxieties were blown away. Over a girl. He should be ashamed that such pettiness could affect him.
Straightening his clothes and rolling his neck, Draco smiled like a shark as an idea formed slowly in his mind. People in bathrooms had their guard down. They are vulnerable, and vulnerable people can be exploited. He must keep his own hands clean, however. If an attack failed, it would leave his ultimate victory unfulfilled. Still, there was room for attempts of lesser complexity. You never know what might succeed.
He hurried to the Seventh Floor. He did not need Goyle for this simple task. He would be in and out before anyone even bothered to look for him. He paced in front of the Room of Hidden Things three times, opened his eyes, checked around for any onlookers, then slipped inside. He wound his way through the stacks to the little workstation he had created for himself. His galleon lay on the table right where he had left it. It had been an impressive idea from Granger, but she would never appreciate the extent to which her creation could be put. Draco focused on the big gold coin, holding his wand over it and manipulating the ring of characters around the rim to pass along his message to the barmaid. He knew she would be useful, and this was just going to be the start.
—
Bitterly, he was copying out the same line for the 130th time under McGonagall’s stern glare. ‘I must treat my peers with dignity and respect.’ Hah. The crone could make him write it a thousand times, and that didn’t make it any more true. His so-called peers were deserving of nothing but scorn and contempt. Still, an outright refusal was likely to create more problems for him, so he tolerated the detention. It even gave him a useful alibi, as today was the day he would use his pawn to deliver the curse to Dumbledore himself.
He accepted that it was likely to fail, but that had its uses as well. If someone interfered, they would fall prey to the trap instead of the old man, and he would have one fewer enemy in the way. Perhaps he would even get lucky, and it would be Potter himself. Not Granger, though. Not yet. He shook his head to dislodge the thought.
“Mr. Malfoy! Please focus on your task. You are not here to daydream.” McGonagall intoned.
Draco scowled and turned back to his lines, scrawling them untidily with bad grace. That’s when he heard the commotion in the halls. His heart leapt. Had he succeeded? Someone had definitely been injured. He could hear it in the panicked tones. Was it Dumbledore himself? Could he be so fortunate? Perhaps the old fool had actually been done in by his compassion after all. In trying to protect his precious student, could he have been so foolish as to take the package from her? To cast it away? He didn’t dare hope. What if it’s her? I should have told Rosmerta to avoid her. No. Don’t indulge in this pathetic weakness. If she’s dead, it’s no more than she deserves for interfering.
Professor McGonagall stood slowly from her chair. “Mr. Malfoy, I will be stepping into the hall momentarily. You will stay in your seat until I return.” She moved briskly to the door and pulled it shut behind her.
Inside his fracturing mind, Draco was spiraling. She didn’t interfere. Rosmerta could have just picked the first girl through the door. It wasn’t her. A bead of sweat formed on his forehead and slid across his jaw. Could it have been her? No. The chances were too absurd. Stop it. You’re being weak. She’s just a filthy mudblood. He felt tired and nauseous. The elation of his success had been punctured, and it was leaking fear and regret into his heart.
The door swung open, and McGonagall stepped inside. “Mr. Malfoy, we are finished for today. There has been an incident, and I am needed elsewhere. Please leave behind your quill and parchment, you will pick up where you left off next week.”
“Who—?” He started.
“Miss Katie Bell has been injured. The circumstances are unclear. We will speak to the student body in greater detail if it is appropriate. For now, please return to your Common Room.” She said firmly, then left.
He exhaled in confused relief. Katie Bell. He barely knew her. One of the girls on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, wasn’t she? She wasn’t worth the effort as a target, but still he supposed she was technically the enemy. At least it wasn’t her. He ignored the thought. Not Dumbledore, then. Well, he had expected that, but it was still a disappointment. He rose and packed away his things and decided to see if he could overhear any details on his way back to the dungeons.
There was excited conversation happening in McGonagall’s office, just above. He waited, but couldn’t hear any details through the wood and stone. When there was a break in the chatter, he stepped out. Just ahead of him, a girl was leaving the office and walking unsteadily away. He vaguely recognized her. Her name was Leah or Lina or some such thing. Still, if she was this rattled, she must have witnessed what happened firsthand. He held back and lurked behind her, waiting to see if she let slip what she saw.
His patience was rewarded only a few minutes later as they approached the Infirmary. Another girl, this one a Ravenclaw named Anya something, hurried over when she saw her friend. “Leanne! Are you okay? I heard what happened, how awful.”
“I’m okay. I’m just going to Madam Pomfrey to get something for my nerves. Professor McGonagall said I’m in shock. Poor Katie, though.” Leanne mumbled in a brittle voice.
“She’s so sweet, too. Why would anyone want to hurt her? Did you see who attacked her?” Anya asked curiously.
“It wasn’t an attack. It’s like she was bewitched. She came out of the bathroom at the Three Broomsticks holding this package. She wouldn’t listen to anyone, she just kept trying to get it back to the castle. When she touched it… Oh, it was so awful. It’s like something was coming to take her away.” Leanne said hollowly.
“Well I’m just glad nobody else got hurt. What if you had tried to take the package from her? It could have killed you!” Anya exclaimed.
Leanne shuddered. “Ron Weasley nearly touched it as well. I can’t imagine.”
Draco had heard enough. He grimaced in frustration that he missed his chance at being rid of Weasley, but it was hardly important. So the fool girl hadn’t made it even back to the castle. She cursed herself out of incompetence. He silently scolded Rosmerta for not properly securing the package. There was nothing to be done about it now, however. He turned on his heel and made for the dungeons, avoiding anyone who might want to ask his opinion. It wouldn’t do to be too vociferous until the dust settled.
—
The bad business with Katie had put Draco’s rare moment of gallantry completely out of Hermione’s head. For the following weeks, it was all anyone talked about. Then schoolwork started becoming more pressing as teachers hurried to cram in everything they could as Christmas break loomed on the horizon. As much as she tried not to concern herself with Harry’s problems, she had to admit that the lessons he was spending with Dumbledore were occupying part of her attention as well.
All in all, she was feeling quite frayed when Harry tricked Ron and tricked her with the fake luck potion before his match. In the back of her head, she knew that Harry hadn’t meant to make her feel like an interfering busybody, but whenever they played their little jokes and pranks, that’s how it always ended. Someone had to be responsible, didn’t they? If she didn’t watch out for them, who would? They were so determined to test the absolute line of what they could get away with, and one day they would cross it.
That evening, watching Ron kiss Lavender and having to accept that finally her hopes had been extinguished, she couldn’t even bring herself to hate the girl. In shame and rage, she had attacked Ron, but even that hadn’t been satisfying. Harry was useless at times like these. It wasn’t fair to blame him, but she hated that caring for him meant putting herself around such a horrible and visible expression of her unlovability. Because surely that was the only answer. Why else would she have spent years building a bond with someone, feeling sure that they had feelings for her, coming to believe in a possibility of a life together. Only for him to fall for the first girl who showed overt interest in him.
She couldn’t stand to look at herself. She knew that she had never been the prettiest girl at Hogwarts, but that had never bothered her because she knew that she had other qualities. There were things she could do, things she knew, she worked hard. She had value. Only maybe she didn’t. Maybe her only value was in being a walking library for real heroes. Harry needed her, but not because she was special. He just needed someone to read books for him and remember important bits of information. That’s all she was. Just a notepad with legs.
She was tired and frustrated and quite looking forward to Christmas break. The invite to Slughorn’s party was very unwelcome, but a spiteful voice in her head said Ron won’t be invited. She knew that was a silly and immature thought, but it felt good to indulge in a little immaturity after the unending storm of work that had built up over the last few weeks. Who could she invite that would really get under his skin, though?
Draco. The thought was dangerous. Seductive. Her cheeks flushed and a vicious smile stole over her lips. Then it fell away. No, simply impossible, unfortunately. For one, although Ron would not be invited, Harry certainly would be, and it would hurt him far more than it would hurt Ron. His current obsession notwithstanding, Malfoy had tormented him for years. This was not to mention the fact that Draco would not be seen dead with a mudblood anyway.
She debated several other options. There was a very tempting case to be made for Zacharias Smith, but she wasn’t confident that she could endure his unpleasantness for an entire evening. Michael Corner was another possibility. The fact that he had dated Ginny would be just that extra little thorn in his shoe. Finally she settled on McLaggen. He may be a lout, but he was at least a handsome lout. She also had no doubt that he would say yes, if only to annoy Ron as well.
When she arrived at the party with McLaggen, he let himself through the door without waiting for her. Once inside, she endured his Quidditch stories for as long as possible, which ended up being about ten minutes, before she ducked away and tried to find someone else to talk to. She had a few mildly interesting minutes discussing the differences in availability of cassia and ceylon cinnamon for apothecaries after the fall of the British Empire with Melinda Bobbin, but then Melinda was pulled away by Professor Slughorn and Hermione slipped away again before McLaggen could find her.
There were a pair of heavy curtains under an archway that Hermione was able to partially hide between until she could find someone else to talk to. Too late, she realized that McLaggen had seen her and was approaching unsteadily through the crowd. He swayed like a pine tree in a high wind, and when he was still five feet away, she could smell the firewhiskey rolling off of him. The idiot. There are teachers all over the place. Did he sneak in a flask? She couldn’t escape again with him watching, so she just smiled and waved and waited until he got distracted.
“Decided you wanted more of me, eh, Granger?” He slurred.
Hermione gave him a blank, uncomprehending look. Then spotting what was above his head, she realized in horror that she was standing under the mistletoe. “Oh, no, sorry. I just…” She fumbled for an excuse. “Wanted to… get some air?”
“S’okay, Granger. You can admit that you want me.” He wobbled dangerously. He shut his eyes in a childlike squint and pursed out his lips. He pawed at the air, and managed to get his apelike hands into carefully conditioned and brushed strands of Hermione’s curly hair. Pulling free like a rabbit in a trap, she dove through a cluster of people and Harry spotted her only a moment later.
“What’s happened to you?” He asked. There was a hint of concern, but mostly he just seemed confused why she looked like she had just climbed through a bramble thicket in the middle of a party.
They talked for a moment, mostly with Harry scolding her for being petty. She knew he was right, and even though it had initially felt good to hurt Ron, the cost was adding up. When he brought up Quidditch, she got frustrated and wanted to scream. Why is it that Quidditch was the only thing boys ever talked about? All she wanted was a moment of peace where she could talk with someone who sincerely understood what she was feeling and how much pressure she was under. Then she saw McLaggen looming over the party and wading generally in her direction and Quidditch fled from her mind.
Giving the party up as a bad job, she resigned herself to just enjoying a few more canapés and then sneaking back up to the Gryffindor tower before further disaster. She snagged a spinach vol-au-vent off a passing tray and munched on it while hiding behind an enormous wizard in bottle green robes. She spent a bit circulating through the room and catching snippets of conversation while sampling a few small things from the trays before she felt like she had seen everything to see. Filch was dragging Malfoy in just as she was leaving. As tempted as she was to hang around and see what that was all about, it wasn’t worth possibly getting caught up in the drama and spotted by McLaggen again.
Once she was in the hallway, she stopped to lean against the wall next to the door and catch her breath. The buzz of activity and the simple noise of dozens of people in the same room had been more oppressive than she had appreciated. Free of it, her head was clearing and unrecognized tension was leeching out of her into the cold stones of the castle walls. She started to feel much steadier, but with the reality of the cold night came the fears and pressures that had been pushed down by the music and conversation.
She took one step. Then another. Then fell to her knees and sobbed. The night had been an unmitigated disaster. In her attempt to hurt Ron, she had only humiliated herself and earned criticism from the last person who really cared about her. Harry would forgive her, she knew, but he wouldn’t forget that when things didn’t go her way, she sunk as low as she could go to hurt someone she had cared about. He wouldn’t forget that, to her, betrayal was simply a tool. Harry was the most loyal person she had ever known. There had never been a time when he wasn’t there for her when she needed him. Now her best friend, the best man she knew, thought she was willing to go behind someone’s back and get with their worst enemy, just to hurt them. The worst part is that she was willing. That’s exactly what she had done, and she was disgusted with herself.
There was a rattle and click at the door behind her, and it started to swing open. She sprang to her feet and raced down the hall, rounding the corner and falling back against a worn tapestry. She could hear Snape and Malfoy having a whispered argument, moving toward her. Then they went into one of the empty classrooms and she breathed a sigh of relief. She knuckled the tears from her eyes and splayed her legs out on the hard floor, trying to regain her composure.
Sounds from the castle above reverberated down and made her feel like she was hiding in her own tomb while the world raced past overhead. She wished she could just sit on a little stone pedestal and be a statue forever, mostly forgotten until the odd student sat at her feet. Her heart beat in slow motion, the darkness breathing in time with the waves of fear and hopelessness and loneliness washing over her. A vignette crowded the corners of her vision, and a lonely torch flickered tauntingly.
The classroom where Malfoy and Snape had been arguing vomited them into the hall. Footsteps charged toward her, but she couldn’t summon the energy to move. When the silver-blonde head rounded the corner and raced forward, she knew that her legs were in his path. She watched with glum acceptance as he was instantly upon her, and then spilling over her clumsy feet and hurtling to the floor. As he fell, he saw her against the wall and his eyes flashed with something unidentifiable.
From the floor, he glared and lashed out. “Granger, I should have known. Waiting to ambush me like all the others? It won’t work. Potter, Professor Snape, Filch, none of you will break me. I have been chosen, and I will not allow myself to fail.”
She stared at him mutely. Her eyes ached, but she couldn’t even muster the motivation to blink. Hit me. Hurt me. I deserve it. Punish me. Her heart cried out, but her mouth didn’t move.
—
She stared at him insolently. Tonight would be different. She would not best him again. Draco drew his wand, and with a sweep, cast her against the cold, unforgiving walls. She didn’t even reach for her own wand. The arrogance. Does she honestly believe I won’t hurt her? He rose to his feet and steadied himself. He pointed his wand at the ground, and then with the back of his other hand, fetched her a ringing slap across her face.
She swayed from the impact, but the spell held her fast. When she turned back to face him, she didn’t cry out. Didn’t brandish her wand. She just stared at him. As if he wasn’t worth even resisting. He flexed his fist. With his open palm, he struck her again. Her face was livid red, tears gathered in a glittering line at the drooping curve of her eyes. Still she didn’t cry out. His wand twitched in his hand. He wanted to hurt her. To make her suffer. He wanted her to regret making him want her.
Before he could gather another thought, she pulled away from the wall. Her arms were pinned, but she craned out, stretching her neck. Too fast to react, she was kissing him. The coppery taste of blood was on her lips. Draco’s mind went blank. His heart popped like fireworks and a bolt of lightning fused his feet to the ground. The spell holding her failed, and she crashed to the ground. In an instant, she was off. Tearing up the hall away from him, leaving him holding a finger to his lips, tasting her blood and her breath.
One voice called out over the buzzing silence. Don’t let her get away. His feet lifted mechanically, and he gave chase. Around one corner, then another. He caught up to her in a passage that had once led to a classroom used for Potions examinations when Professor Snape had taught the subject. He cornered her, and the one voice broke into dozens. Make her pay. Make her love you. Make her yours. Make her suffer. Take her. Take her. Take her. She retreated back, and he saw genuine fear in her eyes for the first time.
I’ll give her a reason to be afraid. Why did she have to do that? Why couldn’t she just let me hate her? His stomach burned with desire and rage. He shot forward, and then his fingers were around her neck. Another voice, small and afraid, went unheeded as his blood boiled inside him. How far will this go? All the way. He knew the answer. There was no stopping now. Things had already gone too far. There was no stopping what was next. Not for him, for her, for anyone.
Her face was dark and swollen, and she fought to breathe through his grasp. Her fingers clawed at the stone walls. He dragged her into the classroom and pulled the door closed behind them. He threw her to the ground, and she looked up at him with hopeless detachment. Draco tried to sneer, but his face wouldn’t obey. He just stared at her with a savage need. His wand snapped out in front of him, and he slashed her clothes away. She let out a pathetic squeal when one of the cutting spells sliced open her thigh while her skirt was being severed.
Draco dropped his robes and feverishly pulled his shirt free of his trousers. He opened the buttons as quickly as he could and ran a hand over his rigid stomach. Reaching out, he dragged his fingers through the stream of vivid crimson outlined against soft pink flesh. He stared at his fingers, watching as each droplet found its own path down to his palm. Then, with patient ceremony, he painted his abs crudely with scarlet ichor. He lowered his trousers and then his underpants. His unyielding cock was purple and throbbing. He stroked it with the bloodied palm, arching his hips and grasping it low to make it appear larger in the dim light.
Hermione stared at it and whimpered. Not so laughable now, is it? Try and mock me after this. He forced her knees apart and roughly pushed his fingers between her velvet folds. The whore loves this. She’s already sopping. She should be honored to take such a high born man, even out of wedlock. He stroked himself a few more times and positioned himself between her legs. He penetrated her with a swift thrust, tearing through the last tatters of her hymen.
A shuddering moan erupted from her lips and he grinned manically. He pounded into her again and again. Yes. Love it. Love me. Want me. Need me. I can make you feel better than anyone else. You’re mine. He lifted her hips to push as deep as he could go. Her breaths came heaving and ragged. She clawed at his chest and her knees clamped tight around him.
While he fucked her, thrashing and moaning on the floor like a beast, he dreamed. While he dreamed, he hummed. Their life together could be glorious, if he just abandoned the authority of his failure of a father. Finally, he had a woman, and his own physical limitations no longer mattered. He proved to her that he could still be a man. Wasn’t she loving this? Wasn’t she writhing in the pleasure he gave her? The moon peeked through a high slit window and lit his hair like white fire. The blood sat like a void on his naked skin.
For hours, he used her in the dark. When he had finished between her legs, he used her mouth. While she lay curled up on the floor, he used his fingers inside of her, savoring the way his seed filled her and stuck to his fingertips. When he grew hard again, he went inside her once more. Her moans slowed and subsided, and the whole time, neither of them spoke. With each explosion, his face grew more cold, less human.
Worthless. Not even able to hold my attention for a full night. He picked up a scrap of her ruined clothes from the floor and tossed it onto her stomach where a pool of his seed glimmered dully. “Clean yourself off. I’m finished with you now.”
He buttoned his clothes over his sweat-drenched, blood-decorated form. He straightened his appearance to a reasonable standard and left. Just before he pulled the door shut, he paused. Something forgotten, a voice deep inside that may once have been his own. Just look back. See that she’s okay. He ignored it. The door closed with a resonating clack.
As he paced through the midnight halls, the darkness closed around him.
—
Hermione never spoke about the night in the dungeons with Draco Malfoy. Not to Harry. Not to Ron. Not even, years in the future, to her own children. That part of her she kept frozen and locked away. She would not ask herself about that night, and if asked, would not answer. When Harry and Ron left for Christmas, she stayed behind. She later told them that she spent Christmas with her parents. In fact, she had spent it in the dark. The Winter Sun could not reach where she had gone.
When she talked with Harry about Draco after that, she still discussed the boy. A shade of Draco that no longer was real. An afterimage of a schoolyard bully who wasn’t to be taken seriously. The Draco of that night was something different entirely. She only saw that Draco when the moon made a silk shirt glow like white fire. Or when a streak of blood sat in empty blackness on pale skin.
She had opened herself to the dark, and it had entered. Now it lived inside of her. Forever.
—
Draco had the old fool cornered. Trapped like a rat. His plan had gone flawlessly. Death Eaters flooded the halls of the castle. He gloated at his success, and the old man looked at him with weak, fearful eyes. He had only to cast the final spell, and the deed was done. He would be honored among all others. Heir to the greatest House. First among the Dark Lord’s servants. Slayer of the Great Enemy.
When the stars reflected on the old man’s glasses, his blue eyes disappeared behind points of flickering light. For just a moment, the fearful eyes he saw looking back at him were the color of honey.
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